


The Ways of Tea and Failure

by OneforSorrowTwoforMirth



Series: The Ways of Tea and Failure [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Avatar Renaissance, Dealing with past trauma, Gen, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Iroh (Avatar) is a Good Uncle, Nightmares, One Shot, Past Child Abuse, Season 1 Zuko, Tea, Training with Iroh, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, Zuko's Scar (Avatar), it's zuko so you know there's going to be, someone hug this boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24529630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneforSorrowTwoforMirth/pseuds/OneforSorrowTwoforMirth
Summary: It's been one year to the day since Zuko was banished and while he wants to resume training in order to find the Avatar, Iroh would rather he use it to face his fear.
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: The Ways of Tea and Failure [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2065143
Comments: 8
Kudos: 140





	The Ways of Tea and Failure

  
  
  


In the dead of night, when he was certain the sounds of the engine and the sea would hide it, Zuko the banished prince of the Fire Nation would cry. He had learned from a young age that he must be quiet whenever expressing any emotion that wasn’t making him a better soldier. 

His crew never suspected. They had seen him tantrum and rage and shout, but never would think that the prince was capable of such weakness.

But his uncle knew. 

Iroh always passed his nephew’s cabin an extra time before he turned in for the night and whenever it was too still, too silent, he knew. He would stand in front of the door, hand pressed against the warm metal, and wonder if he should go in. He knew that Zuko would want to be left alone, that having someone know he cried would only make him more determined never to allow his feelings to surface. So he would linger before the door but never go in. 

The next morning, he would never comment on his nephew’s red eyes; he would never ask him how he slept (Zuko hadn’t slept through a whole night since before his banishment), he would only smile, wish him good morning, pour him some tea, and wait. The Dragon of the West was good at waiting. He’d had a lot of practice.

It was night, a year to the day of his banishment, and Iroh stood before his nephew’s door again, listening. Maybe the engines were quieter, maybe the wind had abated, but tonight he could hear the boy’s soft sobs. 

Iroh sighed and rested his fingertips on the door.

Unbidden, the day came back to him.

 _The smell of burning flesh reached him even here. He looked up and the sight made a rage he thought he had long since mastered spring up within him. Soldiers dragged his nephew from the room and The Firelord (he had long since stopped thinking of Ozai as his brother) crossed his arms, a sinister gloating smile on his face._ _His niece was looking down at the scene with horrible pleasure and he cursed Ozai again and the ways he twisted and bent his children._

Iroh turned to go. Another shuddering sob came from the cabin.

He couldn’t. 

The door wasn’t locked. Maybe, deep down, the boy hoped someone would come. In the dim light, he could see Zuko sitting on the edge of the bed. His nephew tensed as the door squeaked but didn’t turn around. There was only one person aboard the ship who would dare enter. 

Iroh said nothing. He was a patient man who knew well when there were no words to be said. For all Zuko's rage, the prince's true grief was a fragile thing that could not be spoken. Zuko tried to choke down his tears and after a few minutes succeeded. 

“Uncle,” he said, “I want to resume my training.” 

The next night, the Dragon of the West faced the Prince on the silent, abandoned deck of their ship. Iroh had given the men the night off with firm instructions that they were not to be disturbed. 

“Your stance is unbalanced, Prince Zuko." He began to correct it but his nephew snapped, 

“My stance is fine, I’m not a novice!” 

Iroh sighed. “Show me your forms. No fire.” 

Zuko glared a little but began with the simplest and finished with the last one he’d learned, Dragon Waking. He had clearly continued the exercises even if he was skittish of using the actual element. 

“Now,” Iroh said, “Again. With fire.” 

Zuko could still conjure a flame easily enough, but the flames were hesitant at first. Then they grew larger. They spurted and shot with no predictability around the firebender, who shrank from them. Through the inferno, Iroh watched his nephew’s breathing - erratic, like the flames. Fire flared close enough to singe Iroh’s robes, crescendoing as Zuko blocked, spun, and released a torrent that had been stopped up for a year. 

He released a final dual blast from his fists and dropped to all fours, sweat beading on his brow, panting from exhaustion. Yet as he looked up, Iroh saw that the spark that had been dimming in him had been rekindled. There was _fire_ in his eyes once more. 

Iroh only wished there wasn’t such anger in it. 

“Good. Your power is still there, even if your breathing needs work. Again.”

Wiping his brow, Zuko threw himself into another set.

They passed several nights like this. Zuko was heedless of damage or danger. He blistered his throat and singed his fingers. His eyes were bloodshot from the heat. Iroh wanted to tell him to stop, to slow down, but such things would only make the boy more determined to prove himself. 

So the Dragon of the West waited.

On the third night, after Zuko allowed the flames to get too close to his throat again, he said, “Enough.” He brought his nephew a cup of tea, which earned him a glare. “You’ll want this, nephew. It will help your throat, which you seem to be determined to damage beyond repair.” 

He begrudgingly accepted. Iroh got his own cup and the pair of them leaned against the side of the ship and drank in silence. 

“That feels better...thank you,” Zuko said. 

“For nearly a year, I haven't seen you produce so much as a spark, Prince Zuko. What has changed?” 

Zuko looked down into his tea. “I realized...my honor, I can get it back. I _have_ to get it back. When I find the Avatar, I can’t fight him without my fire. We’ve drifted aimlessly for months." Zuko turned to look at the dark horizon. "Not anymore. I _will_ find him.” 

“So you have purpose once more. That is good.” _For how long, I don’t know. How long until you realize this mission was meant to fail?_

Zuko gulped down the rest of his tea then said, "I want to spar." 

“What?” 

“I haven't fought with my bending for a year, Uncle! I can't afford that kind of weakness!"

"So...you are ready to face your fear?" 

Zuko scoffed, “Why would I be afraid?” 

_Oh child. So headstrong...you’ve convinced even yourself that you’re not afraid._

"Very well. We can try."

The prince fell into his stance.

Iroh sighed, “I’m going to send a blast toward you, toward your face as one might expect in a fight. Disperse it, or try to direct it back at me, whichever you choose.” 

This had to be done. Not to toughen him, spirits knew the boy had been embittered enough. No. He could not undo his brother’s cruel treatment but perhaps facing it meant Zuko would finally be able to sleep through the night without reliving it. He never wanted his nephew to cower in fear again.

“Why would you tell me? In a real fight, you don’t get the luxury of knowing your opponent’s moves! Don’t treat me like a child! Just do it already!” 

Iroh took a deep breath and allowed the flame to form in his hand, where Zuko could see it. He reached back. 

The flame came faster than Zuko expected. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. 

_The shadow looming over him, his forehead pressed to the ground,_

_“Father_ **_please_ ** _-”_

A high pitched scream cut through the inferno as Zuko crumpled, hands over his face. Iroh severed the flame immediately, rushing to his nephew’s side. The boy staggered to his feet. He nearly tripped over himself shoving Iroh away. 

"Are you alright?" Iroh tried to grab his shoulders, but Zuko shrugged him off. 

“Again!” he panted, “Do it again.” 

“Prince Zuko -” 

“Do it again!”

“You -” 

“How will I regain my honor -” _how will he ever accept me?_ “If I’m weak? Do it again!” He tried to take his stance again but his body was trembling. 

“No!” Iroh snapped. He placed a hand on his shoulder and forced the prince to sit. “Not until you rest and drink this!” He handed Zuko more tea. Zuko’s hands were shaking so badly he spilled it, mostly on Iroh. His uncle pretended not to notice as he inspected his nephew's face and thankfully found there was no damage. Zuko managed a sip then closed his eyes. 

_Dark. Everything was so dark._

_“What’s happening?”_

_“Prince Zuko -”_

_“Uncle? Uncle, where are you? Why can’t I see?!”_

_“Please calm down -”_

_“_ **_Why can’t I see?”_ **

_“Your eyes have been bandaged,” a comforting hand on his, but it did nothing to break through the furnace of panic in his head, “Both eyes were damaged from the heat, now please calm down.”_

_“I can’t see, I can’t see -”_

Zuko opened his eyes again. “I’m ready,” he said, though his hands still shook.

“There is no hurry. We have time.” 

“No. I need to be ready. If I’m ever - ever to go home.” He stood, pale but with his arms and legs under control, “Again.”

_How to tell you, how to explain? He never meant for you to come home._

“Very well.” Iroh stood. Zuko took a dozen steps back and fell into his stance. Iroh made the blast smaller, but brighter so his nephew couldn’t complain of being treated like a child. Zuko tried to stand his ground, and was halfway through diverting it when he dodged instead. Iroh tried to tell him there was no dishonor in dodging an attack but, as he expected, his nephew took it to be patronizing. 

After the fifth try, Iroh said, “This time, don’t follow the fire. Look at me.” 

“What?” 

“You were taught to focus on an opponent's hand since that is where the fire will come from. But I will tell you, the best way to be two steps ahead of an opponent is to learn to sense the heat to determine the attack’s direction. This way you can anticipate what they do next, focus on them rather than their fire.” He took a few more steps back. 

Zuko assumed his stance again. 

He took a breath and focused on his uncle.

The fire swirled toward him, obscuring his uncle’s face for a moment. He instinctively ducked under the blast, then, before he could properly stand up again, he _felt_ another coming toward him. His stomach knotted. His body tensed to dodge, but a corner of his mind that had been sleeping woke and screamed, 

_Fight!_

With a roar, he punched back. The fire obeyed, shooting back towards the source. 

Iroh caught the flame and let it dissolve to smoke. “Well done, Prince Zuko."

His nephew had gone very pale. Zuko tried to say something, but then he bolted to starboard and was violently sick over the side of the ship. Iroh put an arm around his shoulders. 

“We’re done for tonight," he said gently but firmly. 

Zuko coughed and said nothing, allowing his uncle to steer him back toward his cabin. 

“I think perhaps you should -” Iroh began.

“No more tea, Uncle,” Zuko said weakly. 

“Alright, alright. But it _would_ make you feel better.” 

“I’m not sick.” 

Iroh absently felt his nephew’s forehead, “No, I don’t think you are.” _Physically, anyway._

“Uncle…” 

“Yes?” 

“Why...why did you come with me?” 

_Because you are lost. Because you are alone. Because I love you._

Zuko could not yet understand such reasons as love, free of conditions. His nephew still did not know that this ship had been chartered with Iroh’s own money. He did not know that Iroh had lied when he said the crew had been assigned by his father. He did not know that not one coin from the royal treasury had come to aid the banished prince. Iroh would not allow his nephew to know how truly isolated he was.

“Because, Prince Zuko, you are my family.” 

“I know, but -” 

“What other reason do you need? Besides. Someone had to continue to teach you firebending. A future firelord must be the best.”

There was the slightest, imperceptible change of expression. The tiniest sliver of hope in his face. 

_Am I wrong? To give him that hope? Is it as cruel as the chase his father set him to?_

“We will resume training again tomorrow. If you are ready.”

“I am,” Zuko said. His voice lacked its usual edge of challenge. There was nothing but solemn resolve. 

“Then goodnight.” 

Zuko looked as if he was going to say something, but after a moment mumbled goodnight and turned away. Iroh went back to the deck to retrieve his tea supplies and paused again when he passed his nephew’s cabin on the way to his own. 

There was no tossing and turning, no soft crying. He cracked the door just enough to see inside and saw that for the first time in a year, the banished Prince of the Fire Nation was sleeping soundly. 


End file.
